


Memory of an Unheard Melody

by Diabeticgirl4



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: (not specifically mentioned but you better believe it), Autistic Spencer Reid, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, I think?? idk what exactly defines a songfic so idk. just take it, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Addiction, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diabeticgirl4/pseuds/Diabeticgirl4
Summary: Reid’s breath catches as he listens to the words. He’s sure he’s never heard the song before, and yet, and yet….And yet…-Reid hears an unfamiliar song that triggers unwanted memories and sends him spiraling into a panic attack. Luckily, he has friends to help.





	Memory of an Unheard Melody

**Author's Note:**

> me: *feels emotional pain whenever I hear "The Funeral" by Band of Horses*  
> also me: what if Reid had the same association, despite there being no in-universe connection?
> 
> *writes this ficlet while listening to that song on loop and crying the whole time*
> 
> Enjoy! :'3c

Spencer Reid sits in the backseat of the SUV, idly watching the nightlife pass by out the window. In the front seat, Morgan and Prentiss chat about their plans for the upcoming weekend. Between the overlapping conversation and whatever lively song is playing on the radio, Reid elects to tune out the sounds in favor of saving himself from a headache (or potential overload). They had just wrapped up their latest case and had been sent on their way to enjoy their overnight flight back to Quantico, and all Reid wanted was to relax for the rest of the night. He briefly wonders if he can sneak in a quick nap before they arrived at the jet when the next song on the radio suddenly catches his attention. 

The intro sounds oddly familiar, although he can’t recall if he’s ever heard it before. It’s slower-paced and more gentle than the previous song, creating an almost soothing sound that might be ideal for falling asleep to, except something about it feels troubling- he just can’t figure out _what_. He strains to tune out Morgan’s and Prentiss’s conversation to focus on the lyrics, and the uneasy feeling in him grows. The first verse comes to a gentle lull, and a small voice in the back of his head tells him to, for once in his life, stop overthinking it. Nevertheless, he continues concentrating on the song, eager to pick out the lyrics and determine what could be causing the strange feeling (Discomfort? Unease? Fear?) that’s gnawing at him. Finally, the singing starts back up just as the conversation in the front seat comes to an end.

_Really too late to call so we wait for_ __  
_Morning to wake you is all we got_ __  
_And to know me as hardly golden_  
_Is to know me all wrong, they were_

Reid’s breath catches as he listens to the words. He’s now sure he’s never heard the song before; the lyrics don’t have any significance to him, nor can he immediately identify any direct meaning or symbolism, and yet, and yet….

_And yet…_

He can suddenly smell the graveyard he was ordered to dig his own grave in just a few years ago. He can smell the gun residue from the revolver he had aimed and fired at Tobias- no, Charles Hankel- no, Raphael, no-

His chest aches from the resuscitations that had brought him back to life. His hands tremble from being bound for so long. Any strength he had before is suddenly sapped from him, and he feels weak, weak, weak. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice is reminding him to breathe. When had he stopped breathing?

He had been watching the scenery outside the SUV window, but now all he can see is Tobias- the man who had helped- no, saved him, lying dead on the ground. All he can see are the vials of Dilaudid clenched tightly in his hand. All he can see is the half-dug grave that he should be lying in, all he can see-

“Kid?”

He hears Morgan’s voice from the front seat. The tone is light and friendly, so he’s probably just trying to bring his attention to their conversation or ask him a simple question. There’s no irritation or concern in his voice, so Reid distantly feels a tinge of relief that his internal panic hasn’t been made known (yet). Still, he struggles to breathe calmly.

_You should pay attention to him; he’s asking a question and will be upset if you don’t answer him_ , a small voice in his head supplies.

_Don’t forget to breathe_ , another (or is it the same?) voice advises.

_You’re having flashbacks and a panic attack_ , the voice notes.

_Ah_ , Reid thinks.

He grips his right arm tightly, inches above his elbow. He pretends it’s the belt tourniquet Tobias strapped on him before he-

His brain finally gets the message to breathe, except it’s like the Quantico office printers that only print after you’ve pressed the “print” button too many times out of frustration and then twenty copies of the paper print all at once, and suddenly Spencer Reid is hyperventilating.

He needs his Dilaudid, but he doesn’t- he’s been clean for 2 years, 4 months, 17 days, 4 hours, 22 minutes, but-

He can smell the slightly metallic tang of the drug. His mouth is dry, his wrists ache, his inner elbow stings and his head is throbbing as he’s overloaded by memories of Marshall Parish, and-

“Reid!”

Morgan’s tone is a lot sharper now. It’s demanding, but traced with concern (not anger) and it jolts Reid back to the present.

Reid pulls his attention from the window and his memories to the worried faces of Morgan and Prentiss. He notes that the radio has been turned off, and how long has the SUV been parked at the side of the road?

He knows he should say something, but his voice isn’t working and all he can do is keep on gasping like a fish out of water. He wants to say “I’m fine”, or “don’t worry about this, it’ll pass”, or “sorry sorry sorry”, but nothing comes out.

“What’s going on, kid?” Morgan asks just as Prentiss lets out a worried, “are you ok?”

_Just say something! Anything!_ his mind-voice yells, but all Reid can do is shake his head in panic. He’s not sure if he’s shaking his head at Prentiss’s question, or because of the frustration of not being able to say anything, or just because suddenly everything is simultaneously too quiet and too loud, and he can feel his teammate’s stares boring into him, and he feels like he’s going to implode any second, so he grips his arm tighter and tighter and-

“Reid, I need to know what’s going on, is there anything I can do?” Morgan asks, his voice still sharp but less demanding and more worried.

He forces himself to take a slow, deep breath, but it still feels like he’s just... not there. He’s more or less aware of Prentiss asking if she could hold his hands, and while he’s thrown off by her request, he brings himself to nod shakily.

She gently pries his hand from clenching above the crook of his elbow, and as she takes his hands in hers, it’s like he can suddenly breathe again. He’s vaguely aware of how much he normally dislikes hand-to-hand contact, but he finds this so grounding and comforting that he feels peace instead of panic.

“Okay, Reid, can you breathe with me?” Prentiss asks calmly, and she demonstrates a slow, deep inhale and exhale. Reid tries to follow along, and after a few shaky attempts, he eventually feels the panic melt away.

The car is quiet again, and Reid looks down at his and Prentiss’s hands to avoid the worried stares.

“Can you talk, kid? Can you tell us what happened there?” Morgan asks quietly.

Reid isn’t sure he can talk just yet, but he nods his head anyways.

He opens his mouth, but he lets out a cough first. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

He takes another deep breath and starts again.

“Sorry,” he repeats. “There was… I’m not entirely sure. Something about the song that played earlier- I’ve never even heard that song before, but for some weird reason it reminded me of…” he trails off. Takes another deep breath. “Hankel,” he finally adds quietly.

He knows the right terminology to use to aptly describe the situation: panic attack, trigger, flashback, PTSD. They’re factual words, not equated with weakness or embarrassment, but he still can’t help the slight feeling of shame. He’s already the youngest member of the team; he doesn’t want the others to have to worry about potential panic attacks over an event that happened years ago on top of their everyday coddling.

The silence resumes in the car, and Reid wishes more than anything he could hide and disappear into oblivion.

“Hey, thanks for telling us, Reid,” Morgan comforts gently. “Are you okay now? We’re here for you if you ever need help, you know that, right?”

Reid nods slightly, but still can’t bring himself to look up to their faces.

“And Reid, what happened to you back then was a serious and traumatic thing,” Prentiss adds. “Memories like that don’t just go away after a few counseling sessions. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you survived. And please, let us know as soon as something like this happens, okay? Like what Morgan said, we’re here for you and will do all we can to help.”

Reid smiles at the words and nods again. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath ( _in……. out……._ ), and is suddenly aware of how exhausted he feels. His second deep breath turns into a yawn, and he mumbles an apology while Morgan chuckles lightly.

“We’re almost back to the jet, how about I call the others and let them know you called dibs on the couch? Oh, and the blanket too.”

Reid wonders if he would even be able to stay awake until they reached the jet, but he finds himself too tired to care. He tries to withhold another yawn, but his exhaustion is threatening to overtake him quickly.

“I’d like that”, he mumbles through yet another yawn. “And thanks, you guys, I’ll be okay now. I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, Reid. Just remember that it’s okay to not be okay, you understand? You’re not in this alone. We care for you, got it?”

Reid nods tiredly and nestles himself into the corner of his seat. The car turns back on and the radio starts playing again- set at a low volume- and he realizes it’s been changed to a classical music station.

He smiles in comfort. He knows his problems and memories will never fully go away, but he also knows that, with the friends and support he has, he will be okay.


End file.
